


Pear Shaped

by Chuffed4angst



Series: Pear Shaped Games [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belly Kink, Chubby Draco, D/s, Fat Character, Feeding, Humiliation, Humor, M/M, Master/Slave, Post-War, Slavery, Weight Gain, fat Draco, feeder harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuffed4angst/pseuds/Chuffed4angst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now, now, Pet,” sighed Harry.  “Don’t make me bring up the whole Master-and-Slave thing.   Eat up, won’t you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pear Shaped

**Author's Note:**

> AU. A long and brutal war twisted collective morals and triggered the desire for sadistic revenge. Harry's no angel, but he has seen his fill of blood and gore. His treatment of Draco Malfoy goes in other directions.

Ever since the war ended, Draco’s life had become warped. Well, let’s say more warped than usual. No one in their right mind would characterize growing up under the influence of the Malfoy and Black family traditions as having been anything less than darkly twisted. Still, nothing had properly prepared Draco for being auctioned off as a Reparations Slave after the fall of the Dark Lord.

Not just a slave, but as the personal sex slave to Harry Bloody Potter.  That was just not on.

When he was first informed that he had been selected for the Reparations Indenture program he had raised seven kinds of hell.  There was no way that Draco Abraxus Malfoy would allow this. His family may have been on the losing side of the war, but he still had rights for Merlin’s sake. Didn’t he?

When legal process was denied him, he did what any sensible person from one of the best families would have done. He postured. He complained. He shouted his scorn. He demanded. And he lost.

Three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, he was stripped of his Wizard’s robes and clothed in a ‘smock’ that looked very much like a pillow case. Worse yet, his head was shaved of every gorgeous strand of his angelic blonde hair. And he was marched onto the Victory Block in the newly transformed Freedom Square in front of the Ministry of Magic.

His flimsy cotton smock provided neither modesty nor protection from the crisp October breeze. The crowd jeered and threw garbage at him. He was so completely exposed that the hostile manhandling by his guards felt like some bizarre kind of protection.

Things went from bad to worse as the bidding began. Enhancing his voice with _sonerous maximus_ , the auctioneer thundered out the many supposed crimes of the "heir to Voldemort's First Lieutenant", declaring him “demonic subhuman chattel” deserving an abominable doom. Shouted bids vied for the auctioneer's attention, competing with malicious heckling and leering propositions.

A lifetime of training kept Draco’s posture ramrod straight and his chin up, but could not keep his bile from rising. Swallowing firmly, he tried to block the scene before him as he had often done under the Dark Lord's reign, but the threats of barbarous rape and torture pierced through his defenses when voiced by the purportedly “good” wizards and witches of the Light. He wouldn't have thought, for example, that the baker's wife would have heard of either the weapon or curse she suggested, no less the particularly creative way in which she wanted to combine them.

Anxiety squeezed his chest, suffocating him. His vision was just going gray when a hush ran through the crowd. Draco looked blearily to see what could possibly have caused the mad crowd to quiet down. Shushing noises drew his attention to the spontaneous opening of a path through the hoard. Fuzzy as his vision was, there was no mistaking Harry Bloody Potter.

Blast.

Draco went down like a sack of bricks just in time for the hero to sweep in and rescue him.

***

When Draco regained consciousness and found himself in the Golden Boy's tarnished custody, he resumed his tantrums. Unfortunately, his newly acquired Slave Compliance Collar always knocked him out with a short dose of Cruciatus-level pain before he could ever make his point.

Fortunately, once Draco got past his initial rage and stopped smashing everything in sight, he realized that things could have been a hell of a lot worse. Draco hadn’t been imagining the malice of the crowd at his auction. As the son of Voldemort’s right hand man, Draco was the highest ranking Death Eater who had been spared the Kiss and his auction promised the public’s best chance for revenge. Pre-auction speculation about the legal limits of retribution against the Malfoy Heir had been shockingly depraved. It turned out that Potter had bought Draco to save his nemesis from the extreme cruelty he would likely have suffered under a more vindictive master.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Draco came to be grateful. Compared to what he heard about other Reparations Slaves, Potter was a relatively benign master. While he was required by law to wear the Collar that restricted his magic and bound him to servitude, Pot--his Master allowed Draco relative freedom within the confines of the Potter Estate in Goddric’s Hollow. As long as he wasn’t overly rude, performed a few household chores and made himself available to Pot--Master in the evenings, he was not punished.  As his compliance became less begrudging, his rewards were greater.

Bedtime with Master initially presented a challenge, but Draco could not help but rise to his rival's challenges.  It was not long before Draco’s physical desires overcame any lingering resentment about his enslavement. His nights with his Master were entirely too pleasurable for Draco to overanalyze.

Draco easily fell into the role of concubine. Apart from the stray hour or two of clerical and library duties, his days of leisure on the Potter Estate became nearly indistinguishable from his prior role as spoilt heir at Malfoy Manor. Brat that he was, Draco pushed every limit to see how little he might do and how much service he might get from his Master’s House Elves. It turned out that he could be very pampered, indeed.

***

At dinner time, about nine months in, things started to go pear shaped. Master was late returning from the Ministry and Draco had just about finished his dinner when Master arrived. Looking up from his meal, Draco murmured, “Good evening, Master.”

Master strode along the formal dining table and paused to give his concubine a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry ‘m late, Pet. Busy day,” he murmured in Draco’s ear. He reached down gently and caressed the little paunch that was growing obvious despite Draco’s flowing robes.

“Cute paunch, that. What can we get you for dessert?”

Draco choked down the last of his Shepherd’s Pie before squawking, “PAUNCH!? You think I’m fat?”

Looking down, Draco witnessed the offending bulge as if he had just sprouted a tentacle from his belly button. Sucking his gut in as best he could, he was alarmed to find that the bulge would not disappear.

“No, no, Pet,” his Master comforted. “You are not fat. Well, not in a bad way, at least. You were frighteningly emaciated when you came from auction. You are much sexier with some meat on your bones.” Playfully pinching a love handle, Master teased, “And I must admit I rather fancy your little paunch.”

“Shite, Potter—“ choking on his Compliance Collar, Draco corrected himself, “Er, Master. Don’t try to make me feel better. This is UN-acceptable. Malfoys don’t get fat, for Merlin’s sake. It’s so... unattractive.”

Snorting at Malfoy’s unflagging vanity and pampered pet whinging, Harry decided to play a bit of a game. He took Malfoy by the chin and turned him to consider him. “You could never be unattractive, Pet. Trust me. It simply isn’t possible.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Just put it out of your pretty head. I know what will make you feel better. Dobby!”

Dobby popped into existence almost before Harry finished calling his name. “Dobby, hi. We need to cheer Malfoy up a bit. Bring us the stickiest, most decadent chocolate dessert you have in the pantry tonight, please.”

Dobby popped out and back in the blink of an eye and held out an amazingly gooey looking hunk of chocolate cake with raspberry filling, fudge frosting, whipped cream and dripping with chocolate sauce. “Thanks Dobby,” said Harry.

The distinctively sweet scent of chocolate wafted over Draco like a drug. “Maaa-ster,” he whinged. “You know I’m helpless against chocolate. How is this supposed to cheer me up, anyway, when it will go straight to my middle?”

His Master didn’t answer. Instead, he placed the fluffy, sticky confection on the table, sat down and raised a large, gooey forkful to Draco’s mouth. Draco glared at him with a resolutely closed mouth. Potter flashed his most charming grin and explained, “It’s supposed to make you feel better because you will know that I am being entirely honest when I tell you that your little weight gain is attractive. I’ve never really had the opportunity to mention this before, what with the whole war and bitter rivals thing and all... But I’ve always rather fancied the idea of a little more of you. Come on Pet,” Master wiggled the fork. “Eat up.”

Draco’s glare sharpened.

“Now, now, Pet,” sighed Master. “Don’t make me bring up the whole Master-and-Slave thing. Eat up, won’t you.”

Draco pursed his lips stubbornly but, with the consequences of disobedience noosed firmly around his neck, he ultimately acquiesced. Taking the offered bite, Draco couldn’t help but moan as he savored the exquisite blends of moist dark chocolate and fudge.

“Oh, yeah,” said Master fervently. Draco’s reluctant but undeniable enjoyment of the decadent cake turned Potter on. He scooped up another forkful, which he eased into Draco’s mouth just as he swallowed the first bite.

***

More and more over the months of owning his former rival, Harry had become addicted to the thrill of forcing pleasure on his Pet against his will. There had always been an exciting spark to their hateful rivalry, but the satisfaction of a well-aimed insult was nothing compared to the joy of forcing pleasure onto this strangely beautiful fiend now in his control. Harry had fallen absolutely in love/hate with the prat.

With the Compliance Collar and legal authority to use the Imperious Curse on his chattel, Harry could easily force his Pet to do anything. But where was the challenge in that? There was no fun in simply bullying his slave around. And so, manipulating Malfoy became Harry’s favorite game. Perhaps it was childish, but Harry reckoned that he’d missed most of his childhood and deserved a little fun.

The first challenge lay in subtly manipulating and coercing the prat into voluntarily doing something he found distasteful or demeaning. Once the prat gave in, Harry made sure that it was so wildly pleasurable that Malfoy became a jabbering, begging, sopping pile of pleasure by the end. The final and best thrill for Harry was watching for the moment of pure self loathing when Malfoy returned to his senses to realize exactly what he had done and how much he had enjoyed it.

Harry had perfected his game as he seduced Malfoy all those months ago. Alas, the sex was so hot that Malfoy quickly lost all of his reluctance. Before long, his Pet was never regretful or ashamed. To the contrary, Malfoy had become a greedy and enthusiastic lover. All this, of course, was not a problem, exactly. Harry quite enjoyed hot greedy sex. But Harry was no longer the pure hearted Gryffindor he’d once been and he missed toying with his Pet. Tonight, Harry saw the pull between Malfoy’s narcissism and his self-indulgent sweet tooth as the perfect opportunity for Round Two of The Game.

Wanting to encourage rather than force, Harry fed alternating bites to Malfoy and himself. He wandlessly enlarged the chunk of cake so that he ended up feeding Malfoy more than half of a cake. Abandoning his own bites after a bit, Harry continued to feed Malfoy despite his complaints that he was full. He asked Dobby for a pitcher of milk, so Malfoy could wash the cake down and make room for more. With Harry’s encouragement, Malfoy continued doggedly. He sounded reluctant, but his weakly moaned protests were contradicted by his eager mouth and obvious pleasure. Harry thought Malfoy actually liked the cake more as his stomach became stuffed because his protests morphed into moans of delight and he forgot his vanity, let his belly hang freely and began rubbing it affectionately.

Harry became aroused as, bite-by-bite, the cake filled and expanded Malfoy’s stomach so that the little paunch grew and became taut. Halfway through the cake, Harry couldn’t contain himself any longer. He lunged forward and claimed chocolate kisses from his Pet. Disrobing Malfoy with a wave of his hand, Harry admired Malfoy’s body. The tall slim figure had, indeed, filled out significantly. All of his sharp edges and hollow crevices had smoothed out, but the bulk of his gain wrapped around his swollen middle. Harry loved the look and feel of his Pet’s plump new curves. Harry bent down to caress and kiss the plump protrusion. “Mmm... Just look at your brilliant little Buddha belly. You are hot.”

“I know I can’t refuse you Master, but you should know that I’m way too full here. Anything remotely like sex is going to have me barfing all over you.”

Harry smirked. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we,” he said, as he took Malfoy’s hand and led him up to the Master Suite. Harry gently arranged a naked Malfoy flat on his back on the king sized bed. “Let me help you with that full stomach, Pet.” As he gently massaged Draco’s stomach and murmured something indistinguishable, Draco felt the pressure in his stomach relax as suddenly he had more room.

With a sigh, Draco said, “Oh, there. Well that’s a lot better thanks. What did you– oh, Master!” As Harry moved down from Draco’s stomach to parts south. This lead to the most enthusiastic and fulfilling night Draco had yet to enjoy in this newly twisted life of his. Who was he to complain?

***

The next morning, Harry couldn’t help but admire Malfoy’s profile. The dawn sun cast at sharp angles that had once accentuated the bones and hollows of Malfoy’s naturally delicate features. Now, Harry thought Malfoy looked healthier and more rugged. Sexier. Malfoy opened bleary eyes to find Harry studying him. A momentary furrow of his brow betrayed his insecurity at being scrutinized by his Master.

Seeing his pet’s insecurity, Harry gently caressed Malfoy’s belly and smiled. “Last night was brilliant,” he said sincerely. “Do you think we could look forward to more of the same tonight? I would like to feed you your dinner this evening... if you are not entirely adverse.”

Appreciating his Master’s effort to make it at least sound as if he had a sliver of choice in the matter, Draco gave him a seductive smile and replied, “How could I refuse you, Master?”

***

And so the pear shaped weirdness stepped up a notch. While Draco indulged his Master in his feeding fetish, he was far too vain to allow himself to gain weight. Draco began to use his days of freedom to work off the calories Master fed him each night. He started out swimming. Gradually, he added new activities to his days. Within a month, he was spending nearly five hours a day swimming, running, lifting weights, and practicing various methods of hand-to-hand combat. He was pleased and proud to watch his stomach return to its prior flat form and even to add to the contours of rippling abdominal muscles.

One evening, after having been fed him an enormous dinner and dessert, he was pleased to find Master stroking his rippling form. Expecting a compliment on his fitness, Draco was confused at the disappointed sigh. “What’s wrong Master? Don’t I please you?”

“Mmm, yeah, of course, Pet. I’m just not seeing the results I had hoped for.”

“What?! You couldn’t have expected me to let myself go once you pointed out my weight gain, could you?”

“Let yourself go? No. But I had hoped to see more of your beautiful Buddha body. It’s all gone.”

“Well of course it is! I’ve been working my arse and my abs off for you every day. What kind of gratitude is this?”

“You’ve wha... I told you I liked your weight gain. Why would you work it off?”

“Maaa-ster,” he whinged. “Fat is not attractive. I thought you were humoring me and the feeding thing was just a cover.”

“A cover? When have I ever humored you? I’m a blunt Gryffindor, remember? I mean it. I’d like to see more of you every day.”

“You are off your nut, Pot–Master. I told you Malfoys don’t get fat. It’s never been done and I refuse to do it.”

Fun and games were all well and good, but, “You refuse??”

“You can’t make me get fat if I don’t want to,” he said with a defiant pout.

That was such a blatant – and doomed – challenge to his authority that Harry had to repress a momentary urge to lash out harshly. Remembering the Game, he assumed a cheeky grin and teased, “Need I remind you again of the whole Master-and-Slave thing?”

Draco maintained his snotty posture, but recognition flashed across his eyes. He knew he had crossed a forbidden line. Having made his point, Harry decided it would be more fun to rethink his subtle plan rather than force the power issue. He let the argument drop for the moment in favor of pursuing an evening of sexual pleasure.

***

After much contemplation, Harry decided that he wouldn’t actually force Malfoy to gain weight. It wouldn’t feel sporting. And success wouldn’t feel like a victory.

Harry decided he would rather make Malfoy want to eat his weight in Chocolate Frogs. He would arrange for cravings and temptation. If the cursed brat was so damned determined to stay slim that he could resist the hunger and cravings Harry would send his way, well then, so be it. Malfoy could be a bloody skeleton if he wanted. But, if he chose to indulge himself, Harry would be back in The Game and he would play to win.

***

Draco was allowed enough of an illusion of freedom that sometimes he almost forgot the whole Master-and-Slave thing. So, when he woke up one morning feeling ravenously hungry and specifically craving pancakes and sausages drenched in syrup, he didn’t think anything was amiss. Shen he felt his stomach rumbling in the middle of his morning workout, nothing struck him as particularly odd. Over the next week, Draco’s appetite continually increased until he found himself eating two to three times his normal amounts.

Determined to maintain his new physique, Draco adjusted his food choices towards lower calorie fruits and vegetables. He increased his exercise regime and found he was nearly holding the line. He was certainly bulking up. But he was pretty sure it was all muscle. He began filling out the shoulders of his shirts, but his pants still fit and he didn’t see a return of the dreaded paunch.

Draco was confident that he was master of his own destiny. He felt strong and energetic. Sex with Master was excellent and Draco received lavish compliments for his building physique.

***

As the yule holidays approached, Draco noticed the House Elves began to add festive little displays of holiday treats all around Potter Manor. They were in the entry ways, the parlor and the library. They showed up on side tables in virtually every room. With so many opportunities, Draco couldn’t help but enjoy a few of his favorite chocolates. Soon, holiday desserts became more decadent at every meal, more numerous and more available around the Manor. He had always adored the special treats available at midwinter and still did. He would find himself thinking fondly of a particular favorite only to find it in the next room. It would be bad Karma, he reasoned, to ignore Fate’s gifts. And, really, he couldn’t possibly be this hungry if his body didn’t need to be fed, could he?

Finally, when Draco gave in to temptation, he gave in to it frequently. He gave into temptation with total abandon. When a Malfoy does a thing, he doesn’t dip his toe in the shallow water. A Malfoy does a graceful swan dive into the deep end. Draco started with his favorite chocolate dipped caramels and then became fascinated with the magical effects of the fruit filled chocolates. After too many chocolates, he was relieved to find good plain tea biscuits and scones. Yet, after sweets of all kinds, he was truly hungry for some good hearty meat and potato sustenance at meal times. Seeing the blankets of snow whirling in the wind outside the windows, he felt chills run through him which he happily warmed with large mugs of rich hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, he decided, was really even better with a chewy brownie. Eventually, he set himself the task of taste-testing the various cookie platters around the Manor – as sort of a quality assurance agent.

With so many good things to eat, and it being the holiday season and all, Draco quite preferred to enjoy his latest find in a leisurely manner, comfortably ensconced in a comfortable chair with a good book to read. Winter holidays, he decided, were not the best time for a strict exercise routine. He knew he had gained a few pounds, but didn’t worry because he knew the tempting treats would disappear after the holidays and he would get back to his exercise routine.

All was well. Draco was captain of his own destiny, after all.

True to his intentions, he began exercising again on the first day of the New Year.

Only the treats did not disappear after the New Year. Somehow, sugary treats were supplemented with more substantial offerings. By Valentine’s Day, each and every room at the Potter Estate housed mouth-watering food opportunities. Every one of Draco’s favorite haunts was now home to one of his very favorite treats. The library boasted an ice cream bar. The gymnasium was home to an always-hot table of gourmet pizza. The Master Suite was outfitted with an never-ending basket of the most wonderful baked goods. Biscuit trays and candy dishes littered every hallway.

And still Draco’s appetite increased. Despite his best efforts at restraint, Draco couldn’t resist. In charge of his destiny or not, persistent hunger and temptation had the constancy and stamina to overcome Draco’s desire for a slim physique.

Oh, Draco’s vanity was still there, somewhere. He diligently followed every feeding, snack, or binge with a workout. The problem was that he found himself starving -- deeply, achingly, painfully starving -- again by end of each workout.

And so his days were filled to bursting with an endless cycle of eating and exercise. And each day was topped off with Master feeding him dinner, or at least dessert, followed by brilliant sex.

***

For all of Draco's efforts to maintain his weight, his self-image, and just a scrap of his dignity, Harry dreamed of just the opposite.

The power dynamic being what it was, Draco lost the battle with every pound and every inch he gained. His gain was so gradual, though, that Draco did his very best to act as though it was not occurring at all. Unwilling to admit that he had outgrown his clothes, he suffered too-tight clothes for weeks beyond comfort before he would contrive to spill permanent ink on his shirt or tear a hole in his trousers as an excuse to ask for new clothing.

Harry savored Malfoy's slow, delicious burn of humiliation. He was patient. He bided his time, watching Draco's growth. He cast the occasional measuring charm and watched the pounds go up from 175 to 195 to 220 pounds. Adjectives like ‘slim’ and ‘svelt’ were lost for Draco in favor of words like ‘sturdy’ and ‘thick.’

He amused himself by pushing pudgy buttons that drove Draco batty. He ran cold fingers along the warm mushroom of pudge bulging over Draco’s waistband. He stood behind his Pet and cupped his hands under the fledgling belly to heft it up and speculate on its weight. When Draco reached 235 pounds, he declared Draco's chubby cheeks 'cute' and made a habit of kissing each one with a little bit of suction. He took to rubbing his nose along Draco's double chin and announcing his attraction to the "little bit of hanging flesh."

Each one of these reminders evoked a whinging, “Maaa-ster!”

***

All the same, Harry yearned for a big win.

Harry planned his surprise for Draco’s birthday, reckoning there should be a little something for both Master and Pet on the Pet’s special day.

He made several special orders at wizarding bakeries, chocolatiers, ice cream and special gift boxes. He put together a 7-tiered stack of wizarding treats in special wizard's space gift boxes. The chocolates were Draco's favorites and he knew he would eat them first, so he spiked them with appetite enhancement potions. The biscuits were spelled to 1/10th of their size, to return to full size in Draco's stomach. The ice cream was spelled with a stretching agent, which should allow Draco's stomach to stretch comfortably, no matter how much he eats. Pumpkin Pasty's were spiked with a digestive agent to quickly digest food in the stomach and transform it directly to the growing layer of fat encircling Draco's stomach. The largest box at bottom of the stack was a case of Butterbeer and party-sized box of extra-spicy Bat Snacks that were spelled to make Draco hot and sweaty.

On the morning of Draco’s birthday, Harry apologized regretfully that had to go to work on Draco’s day special. Instead, he gave Draco the day off. He told him in a mock-serious tone that he would be in trouble if he went about his usual chores today. Then he presented Draco his tiered stack of gifts. Draco was very excited to get the presents, but then crestfallen when he found every box was filled with treats.

“You are just trying to make me fatter. Even on my birthday!”

“Don’t worry,” Master assured. “They all have stay-fresh charms on them. You are free to eat them as slowly as you please. Take all year if you like.”

Draco relented. “That’s alright then. Thank you, Master.”

“You are very welcome,” Master murmured before giving Draco’s chubby cheek one of those dratted suction kisses.

Harry then went off to work, somehow forgetting to mention the Omnioculars strategically set to record Draco's every move.

Draco started to tidy the Master’s suite. But then a House Elf popped in, tidied the room for him and reminded him of Master Harry's instructions that Draco was not to work on his birthday.

Draco huffed. He went to the stack of gifts, opened the top box of fine Swiss Wizarding Chocolates and inhaled. “Yum.”

He pulled a face and muttered, “Manipulative Master...”

He slammed the lid and went to a bookshelf to select a book to read. He made himself comfortable on his favorite lounge chair and began reading. He couldn’t concentrate while knowing all that delicious chocolate was so very close. After a mere 6 minutes he relented and went to "just have one piece of chocolate".

At that point, Harry smiled wickedly from his watching place and really left for the day.

***

When Harry returned hours later, a transformed Draco was sitting on floor, leaning against bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and a happy, glazed look on his face. His chin and stomach were splotched with chocolate and ice cream and crumbs and the orange spice coating from the snacks. His stomach was so swollen with the food he'd eaten and what looked like a 5 or 6 inch thick layer of new fat wrapped around his middle, that he could barely move. He was balancing a biscuit tin atop the foot or so 'shelf' where his bloated stomach jutted out from beneath his newly ripened pecs. Overall, his belly had ballooned so much that it now rested on the floor and rolled out and over his spread thighs as well.

Harry only saw one gift box that was still wrapped and unopened. There were empty boxes, gift wrap, butter beer bottles and little paper wrappers strewn everywhere. The shambles trailed from Draco’s desk, over his chair and across the floor to the side of the bed, clearly documenting Draco’s progress over the day.

And still, after having eaten such an enormous amount over the past 6 ½ hours that he looked to have swallowed a 100 pound bag of Hyppogriff feed, Draco was so intensely focused on digging the bottom layer of chocolate and raspberry biscuits out of their paper wrappers and crunching them in the 'hum'-ing, 'yum'-ing ecstasy of binging, that he didn't see or hear his Master enter. He had the biscuit tin perfectly balanced on the crest between his belly and plump pecs so it didn’t fall while he turned to the side and poured a tall glass of milk from a pitcher. After downing the first half of the glass of milk and letting out a long and liberating belch, he finished the biscuits two-fisted, alternating between biscuits and great gulps of milk.

Harry backed up enough that he was just out of Draco’s field of vision. Making himself comfortable, he leaned against the door-jam with his arms crossed. He was amused, aroused, and triumphant in his victory. He very much wanted to see what Draco would do next.

After devouring the last biscuit, Draco let his hands fall limp to his sides, closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the bed. A minute later, reached up to toss the biscuit tin to the floor and rub the round top of his stomach. “Pht,” he said as he brushed a few of the many crumbs off. Then he massaged his stomach until he released an unbelievably long, multi-syllable burp. “Oh,” he said, as if that may have settled something.

Without opening his eyes or budging so much as an inch, Draco’s other hand reached out and picked up the one last unopened box. With what Harry considered super-human dexterity born of a lifetime of opening far too many presents, Draco untied the bow and pulled the ribbon off with just the one hand. His fingers neatly burrowed inside the wrapping paper, pulled the box out and flipped the lid off. Only when he had propped the box conveniently on top of his belly did he bother to open his eyes to look.

A broad smile bloomed across his face. He whispered in awe, “Truffles!” then bit into an egg-sized confection.

“Mmmm,” he moaned in a voice his Master most associated with orgasms.

“Yes,” he affirmed as he stuck his tongue out to catch the filling that dripped out. Done with the drippings, he stuck his tongue into the chocolate shell and proceeded to clean out the little chocolate cavern, making obscene little noises all the while.

Harry soaked in what he knew to be a lifetime of wank material. Smirking, he thought it would also be enough to shame Malfoy and bring him to blushing arousal for the rest of his lifetime.

Malfoy didn’t, it seemed, have the patience to slowly savor the rest of the truffles. Instead, he jammed the whole of the next one into his mouth, endeavored to push it out into his cheek to bite it and proceeded to chew it up, swallow and move on to the next one like a starving man. A starving man with a penchant for uttering strings of guttural noises of appreciation, that is. He didn’t seem to notice – or at least he didn’t mind – that a good bit of the cream filling squirted out of his mouth in the process. He just licked his lips, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rushed on to the next.

After practically inhaling six more truffles, Draco paused briefly to pick up and shift the great weight of his belly. Harry grinned, realizing that the thickening layer of new fat must have been pushing against his thighs. Then Draco arched his back in an apparent attempt to put his over-stuffed stomach in a better position to accept more chocolate. Thus adjusted, he voraciously bit and sucked and licked and swallowed his way through eight more of the oversized truffles, dripping and spreading various flavors of filling all the while.

When Draco finally reached into the box to find it empty, he whimpered. Seeming to panic, he tried to sit up straighter to fish through the debris searching for another unopened box. He leaned to his right to do a partial search. He rolled to his left and continued. But try as he might, he could not reach the floor in front of him because the great mass of his newly grown belly prevented it. He pulled his head and shoulders forward as if doing a sit-up, but could do no more than reach and wiggle his hands while his back stayed right where it was.

“Oof,” he grunted, panting from the effort, then collapsed back against the bed.

While Draco wasn’t looking, Harry conjured a new box of treats and placed it amongst the torn wrappings already lying between Draco’s calves.

The shining new gold bow caught Draco’s interest. “More?” he murmured hopefully.

Draco tried the forward-reaching effort with more vigor but no more success. “Stars!” he huffed in breathless exasperation.

“Accio,” he tried, despite having been stripped of magic for nearly two years.

Harry smirked when Draco tried shifting to kick the box but kicked it away by mistake.

Harry thanked his lucky stars for the omniocular recording when his Pet began a bumpy, wobbly, ungainly wiggle-and-spin to the left. Unfortunately, having kicked the box away, he still couldn’t reach the box after he rolled as far as he could to his left and still couldn’t reach the box. After a short break to curse the gods, he struggled to pull his new-found bulk up onto all fours to crawl. When he started his ungainly crawl, however, his belly hung too low and dragged too firmly against the thick carpet for him to make any headway. “Yargh!” came his keening cry.

The whole wobbly, chocolate-smeared, beached whale thing had Harry sliding his hand down his pants to comfort his own swollen member. When Draco realized he was well and truly stuck and yowled in anguish, Harry forgot about stealth. He tightened his hold and quickened his pull and cracked his head against the wall as he came.

Still up in his no-go crawling position, Draco craned his neck to see. “Master!” he cried with a squeak that would do any voice-changing adolescent proud.

Harry grinned dumbly as he continued the pull that was good to the last drop.

“Maaa-ster! How long have you... What was in... I can’t...” His outbursts veered from outrage to misery and soon he was sobbing. “I’m h-huge. And s-stuck.”

Manipulative Master with a sadistic feeding kink or not, Harry’s Gryffindor sensibilities kicked in (sort of) and he knelt next to his Pet. Rubbing his back soothingly, told him in an overly sweet tone, “You aren’t stuck, Pet. Just roll back on your side and I’ll help you up. Promise.”

Malfoy shot his Master a look he hadn’t used since he’d first been auctioned off. Then, keeping steady eye contact, he said, “You really are one twisted fuck, aren’t you?”

His Master smirked and said, “That’s one twisted fuck, Master, to you.”

Malfoy smirked back. “OK, Twisted Fuck Master. What do you want to do with me before you will actually help me up from here?”

“Dunno for sure.” Harry laughed as he rolled Malfoy down and onto his back with a little cushioning magic. “Oh, Merlin, just look at you,” he said, running his hands around the bigger, rounder new contours.

“Ung,” moaned Malfoy, a bit seasick from the spin.

“Seriously,” said Harry. “You’ve really got to see yourself.” And he conjured a mirror on the ceiling.

“O-o-o-oh,” Malfoy groaned as if he might die. “Malfoys don’t get fat...”

Harry rolled over on his back next to him to look up at his Pet in all his bloated, food-covered, middle-of-the-mess glory. Gravity had squashed Malfoy a bit, making him look wider than he’d looked when his belly had been hanging. With chubby cheeks and a double chin and a big fat... well pretty much a big fat everything, there was just no denying it. And from the look on his Pet’s face, he knew it and would never forget.

Harry brightened and looked away from the mirror to look at the real Malfoy. “I forgot to tell you,” he said. “I spoke with Hermione and it turns out the whole ‘Malfoys don’t get fat’ thing isn’t a problem.”

“Yes it is,” disagreed Malfoy in confusion. “Isn’t it?”

“Nope. It turns out that when the Ministry auctioned you off, you lost your surname, so you’re not technically a Malfoy anymore. Ergo, no problem.”

Huge, covered with smatterings of food and unable to get up, the newly non-Malfoy sighed and said, “You win.”

“Woo-hoo! I win,” sang the Twisted Fuck Master. “Cool. That’s what I wanted. I’ll help you up now.”

\---

(much later that night)

  
Harry spooned against his Pet's back, one arm serving as Draco’s pillow, the other comfortably draped over the mountainous breadth of Draco’s amplified abdomen.  He cupped Draco’s newly C-size pec. 

 

His big polar bear Pet was exhausted from lugging his newfound immensity through three very cumbersome – and very satisfying -- rounds of play.   Game One had Doggie Harry mounting a needy Pet who was helpless to hold up his own mass, no less his Master’s.  Game Two put Harry on top of a very squashy 69 that gave Harry excellent leverage for fucking but left his Pet completely vulnerable to Harry’s tender mercies.  Game Three had been kind of a surprise to Harry.  Draco had stumbled on the way to the loo.  The rolling, jiggling gracelessness had been so hot that Harry somehow found himself bent in half, being pounded to hell and back by 30-or-so Stone of Malfoy.  So good.

 

Draco had begged for a nap, so Harry, of course, waited idly for his Pet’s breathing to even out before mercilessly twisting his nipple to wake him up.

 

“Uh… whah??”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said insincerely.  “I forgot another thing.”

 

“Don’t tell me.”

 

 “After dinner, do you want to watch the Omniocular footage of your binge with me?”

 

 “Kill me now.”

 

 “Really? But that wouldn’t be _nice.”_

 

 “Right,” sighed the Pet.  Then, more hopefully, "What's for dinner?"

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
>  
> 
> End. 
> 
> I'd love to know what you think. C4A


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